


Trekking on the Tips of your Toes

by famgrill_sinner



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, F/M, Female pronouns for Wendy Testaburger, Kyle does colorguard and basketball, M/M, Mmm yes I love them, Multi, Questioning Stan, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, South Park AU, Stan does football and ballet, Starts with Stendy, Works it's way into Stendyle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-11-24 13:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18165929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/famgrill_sinner/pseuds/famgrill_sinner
Summary: "Are you okay-""P-please don't tell anyone!"Neither of them were expecting this.Nobody expected Stanley Marsh to do ballet. He didn't expect anyone else to find out his secret as long as he lived. Now, here he is: staring up at his best friend from the gross floor of the weights room as the one safe space he had; was shattered. Nobody expected Stanley Marsh to wake up at 6am on a saturday to sneak out of the house to do ballet. Not even Kyle Broflovski.----Aka: A slowburn Stendyle AU where Stan does ballet.





	1. Normal Saturday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someonespooky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonespooky/gifts).



> Hey so,,, long time no existing?? This is an idea we came up with on a discord chat and,,,, fell in love with instantly??? I love questioning!Stan more than my own family???? So uhhh,,,,, bless Liv's soul for this and like; happy birthday homosexual.
> 
> For u h hh the people not named Liv?? I hope you like this blessed AU that is all I can think about-

Stanley Marsh was your run of the mill adolescent. Waking up early to take his boxer Sparky for a run, have a nice breakfast, finish his homework and walk to school with his friends. Expect when was the last time he had a real breakfast other than a mushy apple, if he even ate anything, homework piled up but he never finished it. Didn't even walk to school. He rode the bus, even though he missed it more than he even rode the janky yellow death trap. There was a time where he did all that as his normal morning routine. Now here he is, senior year of highschool, and waking up to his alarm clock blaring that same radio station as it did every morning. The knob broke long ago and trapped him on that damn talk show that never stops.

  
  


"Oh that's funny, that's real funny. Big Harry and Mike in the Morning talkin' about the new hit movie 'Captain Marvel', a  _ great _ feminine empowering movie that took the nation by storm, starring Carol Danvers an-"

  
  


Stan didn't let 'Big Harry' go on to list the rest of the cast. Wendy already dragged him along to see it the other week, not that he didn't enjoy it (thought it was good, asides from the fact he slept for half of it) but there could have been a better way to spend a saturday. Maybe like he will today.

  
  


Why in God's name would you want to be up at six in the morning on a saturday? It's not like he hated sleeping or just needed to get out of the house. Stan didn't have a "secret family" that he could "only see before God wakes up" as Randy has claimed every single time he leaves the house. If you have known Stan for as long as Kyle and Wendy and the rest of the gang have, you'd  _ never _ expect to hear him say "I'll be at the school."

  
  


Sure, he was in football and maybe there was an early practice or maybe he had to go in and make up a test since he missed one last week. If Stan was lucky, nobody would notice he was gone this early and could avoid a weird confrontation. Kyle would probably text him to see where he is since they were supposed to hang out this weekend, that new video game dropped. Which game? Something stupid and mainstream that they could both play on the PlayStation, which, was enough for Stan.

  
  


Pushing his bundled up blankets to the foot of his bed he sat up and yawned. Last night he had a drink or three which was clearly coming back to bite him in the ass. It wasn't a pounding migraine, hell, this was mild compared to what he normally had after a friday night. Sapphire blue eyes still closed, he fumbled around the cluttered nightstand for his phone. Knocked a water bottle over but thank God it wasn't the half drank bottle of vodka that was dangerously close to the edge. A new text from Kyle was the first thing to great him from the lock-screen, which, was him and Sparky from Freshman year of Highschool.

  
  


_ "I forgot I had a meeting today for colorguard. Coming over at 4 instead, that cool?" _

  
  


Stan shot a look at his alarm clock that currently read 6:02am. That would end up working out perfectly. He could come home and take a quick nap as he waited for Kyle to come over. All Stan could type was a simple "k" as he stood up, clutching onto the nightstand as to not fall over.

  
  


As usual, his room was a mess. Dark articles of clothing were everywhere, who knows which is clean and which is dirty, plus an assortment of homework papers he never finished and never  _ will _ . Stan grabbed a couple pieces of clothing that smelled clean enough from the floor and headed towards the bathroom across the hall.

  
  


Quickly changing into those (maybe) clean clothes, Stan sifted through the medicine cabinet. Needed two pills today. One, an over the counter painkiller for this headache. The other one being prescribed medication for his "cynical asshole" syndrome; typically known as depression. Grabbed the pills and swallowed them without the water. Another part of his morning routine. Stan grabbed his toothbrush and put some bullshit 'cavity preventing' mint toothpaste onto it. Didn't have the time to shower but this should be enough of his hygienic routine. There was a thud downstairs which made Stan stop dead in his tracks, biting down on the toothbrush like his life depended on it.

  
  


Who the hell would be up this early? Leaning towards the sink Stan spit out the foamy blue and looked at the partially closed door. His mom would already be gone for work, Shelly didn't live here anymore which meant-

  
  


"Shit-" he breathed out putting the toothbrush back into the normal spot. Randy was home and drunk on the couch. That or someone broke in. For once? Stan didn't know which one was worse. He slinked back into his room, pulling his hair back into a small ponytail. He a low-key mullet scenario going on and he needed it cut but, couldn't bring himself to do it. Wendy offered to trim it but when she said that about her own hair, it went from black locks that ran down her back like a waterfall; to a shoulder length cut. Kyle, on the other hand, thought it was fine as it is. He was in no position to talk, he had an undercut but (thanks to Stan) kept the top at a nice length so he could still toy with the curls when drunk. Like a cat with yarn.

  
  


Stan grabbed a sweatshirt and tossed that onto the navy blue 'Seaworld' long sleeved shirt. Sure, they're an awful and horrible corporation. But the sense of nostalgia it had was too much for him to throw it away. Even if Wendy strongly encouraged it because of how "corrupt and cruel" they were to the animals. Quickly, he zipped up the black sweatshirt and sat down to tie his shoes. Another thud from downstairs just about killed him.

  
  


Slowly, he stood up and grabbed his duffel bag. 6:07am meant he needed to speed this thing up and rush past Randy (or the intruder). He had about twenty-three minutes to get to the school which, should be enough time but he has to take the back-roads to avoid a collision. Stan flipped off his light then stepped into the hallway. The hallway was silent yet he could still feel the tension in the air from the argument that happened last night bounce off the walls. The smiling family photos seemed like nothing more than a joke at this point. Eighteen stairs that led downstairs always creaked but that's because they have been well used. From all the times Stan or Sharon or Randy stormed off in an argument really showed by how often they were stomped on.

  
  


Going two at a time, Stan clutched onto the handrail for dear life as he began his descent. After sneaking out every saturday for the past two months he knew where to step and where not to. There was only one creak that was accompanied by Randy letting out a groan. For the third time that morning, Stan died. The bottom five stairs were bound to creak again, they always did no matter how lightly you stepped. A normal human would rush down them and hope for the best. You wouldn't expect someone to, oh I don't know  _ jump _ them.

 

Stan, however, wasn't one to "conform" to the rules and society.

 

Sucking in a deep breath he glanced at the bottom of the stairs. Just a quick jump, he's done worse. Besides, it was a good warm up; right? At least that was his thought process. In one quick movement, as if he's jumped this staircase a thousand times before, Stan did just that. Making sure he landed properly and distributing the weight evenly to his Nike clad shoes, he jumped down and landed rather softly, knees bending at his weight. He stayed in a crouched position as he waited for a reaction of Randy. Thank God the drunk man didn't notice him.

  
  


Stan continued his quest to leave this place and get a move on with his day. There should be something to snack on in his bag from the last week so he didn't have to run the risk of pouring cereal. Not like he could hold anything down. Shifting all of his weight on the tips of his toes, he slunk past where Randy was on the couch. One arm rested over his chest, clutching a half empty beer bottle, the other was hanging off the worn purple fabric towards a couple more bottles on the floor.

  
  


He ended up looking at the beer bottles for longer than he should have. It was no secret that Stan had a problem with drinking and, would honestly do anything to get drunk again but he  _ can't _ . At least, he  _ shouldn't _ . He still did. Not nearly as much as junior year but it is still a problem. Hell, he had a hangover from last night. Brushing his hair from his face, Stan finally made his way to the door, which he creaked open. Randy gave another stir in his sleep and gave a half hearted grasp at the air above him.

  
  


"Sharon, don't... go- 'm sorry-" Randy mumbled, turning on the couch slightly. Stan could hear the heavy man shift and a dribble of beer hit the carpet. There was no time to play therapist for his parents, Stan needed to get a move on or it would be too late. First come first serve.

  
  


Stan didn't mean to slam the door as he rushed out into the cold world or hear Randy yell "Who goes there!" then a thud which indicated he fell onto the floor. He'd pass out there again so what's the  _ worst _ that could happen to him that wouldn't on the couch? Drown in a pool of his own vomit which consisted of cheap beer and stale bar pretzels?

  
  


Feeling around in his bag Stan grabbed his phone and earbuds. The sun had just started to peak over the tree line in the east. Seemed like the perfect time to jog towards the school as some song blared that was full of complaining about how life sucks. It was mornings like this, that didn't make life seem like utter shit.

  
  


\--

  
  


The school was unlocked. Well, okay, the  _ front _ of the school was locked. The side entrance was always open which provided lack of security but since when was South Park  _ ever _ concerned about the safety of its civilians? Stan pushed the door open and took out one of his ear buds, just to be alert for someone else who might be here. He made his way towards the gym wing checking the time.

  
  


6:23am. Shit, he needs to hurry.

  
  


There should be enough time to change in the locker room. Stan passed by the janitor with a name he couldn't remember who gave him a "Mornin'" before going back to polishing one of the fake trophies the school had. Locker room was unlocked, God, when did the school ever care about security? Eventually he found his way to his gym locker. He changed from those jeans to a pair of black leggings, the Seaworld shirt remained the same, and he slipped his shoes off. Reaching into his bag, Stan grabbed something and tucked it under his rather beefy arm before grabbing onto his sticker covered water bottle and the inhaler he needed.

  
  


He sped over to the weights room which was thankfully unoccupied. Technically, locking the door was illegal. Okay not  _ illegal _ illegal. But worthy of getting in trouble if the school found out. Apparently a kid locks eight people in there then the distract freaks out and declares that one room to stay unlocked. Then again, who the hell is going to be at school on a saturday before 7am? Nobody. Other than Stan and like, that one other person keeping the place clean. The risk of someone seeing him was unlikely and that was his main motive for leaving the door unlocked; but still shut. If someone  _ were _ to be at school, Stan doubts they'd be in the gym wing on a saturday. Place was bad enough when school was in session from all the yelling and everything that goes with the classic gym chaos.

  
  


Stan flicked the lights on and waited for them to warm up, reflecting off the mirrors and worn weights which filled the room. He set down his inhaler next to the water bottle and the items tucked under his arm, nothing special, just a pair of shoes. Slowly he made his way over to the speaker which was resting on one of the benches and plugged his phone in, getting his favorite playlist up. Looking at the shoes, Stan hesitated before slipping them on. The lacing was going to be fine. Done it a million times and it has never been wrong.

  
  


The cotton laces on his normal tennis shoes were replaced with ribbons. The Nike logo wasn't anywhere to be seen. These were the last pair of shoes you would ever expect to see on Stanley fucking Marsh.

  
  


Ballet shoes.

  
  


Rounded tips and a soft baby blue contrasted with his overall dark and dismal appearance. Why in God's name would the captain of the football team, local jock and beefcake Stan Marsh do ballet? Because it 'helped with balance' or improved his foot work on the football team? No.

  
  


He did it because he  **_liked_ ** it.

  
  


No ulterior motive. Stan just liked to dance. That's why he was so embarrassed about getting caught when he went out to pursue his passion at such an ungodly hour. It was so people wouldn't see him or anything of that source. Nobody knew, not his parents. Not his on-again/off-again girlfriend Wendy. Not even his Super Best Friend Kyle; the one man he told everything to. From the depression and struggles with addiction, Kyle knew  _ everything _ there was to know about Stan. Hell, they've been best friends since they were five! There wasn't a single secret between these two. Expect for this one thing.

  
  


He did a couple stretches, making sure he wouldn't pull a muscle. Some toe touches, leg lifts, sitting down and touching his toes to stretch his muscles and get loose; just part of his routine at this point. He's done this a million times by now and most of it first happened in his bedroom and on the football team. Eventually that led him into convincing the school to let him use the weights room in the morning since Randy asked why he was up at 6am and making such a loud noise. He clicked play on his cracked screen. Classical music slowly poured from the speaker; Tchaikovsky, 'Pas de Deux' to be precise. This sort of music always helped Stan calm down and just focus on the task at hand. Letting out a heavy breath, he stepped forwards and let the music take him over.

  
  


That was the only way to describe it. His body flowed with the violins, he spun and watched himself in the reflection. The way his hair fought to escape the ponytail and brushed against his neck. The way his body moved as if he lacked the skeletal structure to support himself. If people found out about this? It would be over. Now was not the time to focus on that. This was  _ his _ time. Nobody to watch or judge. No gossiping girls to spread rumors that Stan is no more than a homosexual in disguise. Ballet was the one way in this world he could express himself. It wasn't violent as compared to football and you couldn't get brain damage from it. The most that would happen is your leg breaks or you twist an ankle which were easy to recover from. He's broken his leg before on an rather,  _ risky _ scene. Another thought that he pushed away from his mind. 

  
  


He didn't mean to stumble but nobody was watching so it didn't matter to the man. He could twirl away in the sweat stained room. A place where aggressive teenagers took out their anger was a safe space for Stan. It was saturdays like this that made his life worth living. His head hurt from last night but the more he spun, the better he felt. He needed to master this footwork before the school year was over. Studied the steps in class rather than doing his Calculus work. Why would he use math in life when he could do something more? Wasn't going to college for educational purposes. Going for sports (if he even went). Kyle was going off to be a lawyer up in Denver not to let his mom down. Wendy is going to master in psychology and work from there. She has a lot of experience dealing with Stan after all.

  
  


As the tempo of the next song picked up, ironically it was Waltz of the Flowers, Stan decided to be risky. Due to the fact he had broken his leg before it made some of the jumps hard. Not enough to kill him yet it was harder than it should have been. Sure, he could do it but depending on what leg he landed on, that could end badly. Just a casual Sissonne (a jump from two feet, landing on one foot) from a sauté (legs and feet stretch fully into almost a split) shouldn't be hard to do; right? Taking in a deep breath, Stan made sure there would be room on the mat for him just incase he did crash and burn. His leg extended and pointed straight out as if he was dipping his toe in the water to see how cold it was before taking the plunge into the dark depth beneath the surface. Stan held his breath and stepped with his other leg. He pushed off from the ground and made sure to watch his footing so his legs wouldn't get crossed. He was going to do it. After the weeks he's been practicing, this was it. Legs were raised and  _ just _ as he was about to land, that's when Stan heard it. 

  
  


"Dude!?" 

  
  


He whipped his gaze over towards the door, missing the landing and tumbling to the ground. His knee buckled under the weight of the muscular man and with a very loud "Oh fuck-" Stan slammed his body against the mat. His music kept playing, just because he fell didn't mean the music would stop. That's what would happen at an actual performance after all. His right bicep collide with the blue mat under him, which, efficiently knocked the wind from his lungs. Stan gasped for a breath as he tried to make out who was standing in the doorway.

  
  


Can't mistake that curly undercut for anyone else in the school. Or the world.

  
  


Kyle  _ fucking  _ Broflovski was standing in the doorway. A light green sweater was covering a shirt that wasn't his (took it from Stan the other week when he stayed over), long legs enveloped in the dark blue skinny jeans which hugged his curves and anybody could see the look of confusion and worry on his face from any angle. In his hand was a clipboard and over his shoulder was his light brown satchel. Or as Cartman called it his "man purse." Stan sat up with a hand pressed against his chest, heartbeat racing and his lungs trying to desperately get the air back into him. 

  
  


"Jesus-" Stan choked out, making a move for his inhaler all while Kyle watched in disbelief. Stan grabbed onto the small blue inhaler with a sticker that simply said 'breathe' on it (something Shelly gave to him when he first got it) and held it to his mouth, pressing down onto the canister and inhaled. If he didn't grab that before heading in here? There was a good chance Stan wouldn't have made it  _ out  _ of here. Dramatic as that sounds, his asthma was spotty and showed up at what seemed to be the most inconvenient of times. This? Was one of them. Stan pulled the inhaler away from his lips, trying just to breath. In through his nose and out through his mouth as he clutches onto the front of his shirt. 

 

"Are you okay-" 

  
  


"P-please don't tell anyone!"

  
  


The two sentences merged together as Kyle and Stan both tried to speak at the same time. Stan looked up at Kyle from the floor as he still remained in the doorway. After a beat of silence, well, aside from whatever Tchaikovsky song was playing now; Kyle stepped into the weights room and closed the door behind him. Stan was holding onto the inhaler as if his life depended on it (kinda did) and Kyle didn't know what to do with his hands. Sure, he had a clipboard and his bag but oh my God.

  
  


Neither of them were expecting this. 

  
  


Nobody expected Stanley Marsh to do ballet. He didn't expect anyone else to find out his secret as long as he lived. Now, here he is: staring up at his best friend from the gross floor of the weights room as the one safe space he had; was shattered. Nobody expected Stanley Marsh to wake up at 6am on a saturday to sneak out of the house to do ballet. Not even Kyle Broflovski.


	2. One Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not stupid Stan."
> 
> “Yes it is-”
> 
> “Then prove me wrong, show me how it’s stupid." 
> 
> “How would I do that-”
> 
> “Dance for me, show me some of your routine. Then I’ll be able to decide if it’s stupid.”  
> \----  
> Aka Kyle has just one request for his worrying friend.

Why wouldn't his heart beat stop the hammering against his rib cage? Stan was so calm just a couple seconds ago, what happened? He was dancing, trying to land a sauté for once and what, he fell? No, he fell because someone saw him doing the one thing he hid from everyone.

 

That person was Kyle.

 

"What- why would I tell someone that you do ballet-" Kyle started taking a step closer to Stan. He was still resting on the floor, propping his body up on the bench so he didn't fall over and end up passing out because there was a very good chance he would die here. His bicep hurt from the fall and his knee was going to ache all day from that failed jump but nothing hurts more than his heart and spirit.

 

"To mock me? One person knows then-then the rest of the school is talking about it, shit spreads dude," Stan breathed out tucking his feet under him. There was no reason to change how he was sitting, it was comfortable before. Well, not the fact you could see his ballet shoes from how he was sitting before and that did not make him feel comfortable. Now he's cross legged and resting his elbows on his knees, hunched forwards and staring intently at the sweat stained padding. Kyle shot a glance back to the closed door and with a sigh, slipped his bag off and set his clipboard atop it.

 

"Dude, why the hell would I mock you? What would I gain from that?" Kyle asked stepping a little closer and sitting down Stan licked at his chapped lips and watched Kyle sit down. He also crossed his legs but sat straight up because he cared about having good posture. His leg to torso ratio was a 2:1 which was good for basketball and colorguard and just looks in general. Kyle was just skinny, lanky, six foot tall guy; that's how it is. His hair was getting into his face and every time it did, Kyle pushed it back and grumbled something along the lines of "damnit Stan-" or "I'm keeping it for you" which was the only reason at this point.

 

"I don't- I don't know?" Stan mumbled reaching for his water bottle. Typically, there would be alcohol in it which he could sneak into the school and get trashed with during World History. Hasn't done that in a solid month and that has to be a record for him. But no. It was straight up water and Stan wished it was the cheap vodka he loved so much. Kyle waited for Stan to pop the cap off and to let him get a drink of water before continuing.

 

"Who would I even tell-"

 

"Don't!" Stan blurted, cutting him off once again. The result of the blurt made him sit up straight and look dead at Kyle, choking on some of the water in process. A couple coughs got that water out of his system while Stan found himself trying to get oxygen into his lungs again. "Dude, please, this is just- it's-" for someone who interrupted a lot he didn't have much to say. The words were on the tip of his tongue as if they were going to pull his tongue right out of his mouth. Kyle held his hands up in defense that ended up having Stan stopping the stammering.

 

"Stan, dude, calm down. You're gonna give yourself like, an anxiety attack or something." He pointed out, gesturing to the quaking man. Stan didn't even notice that he was shaking. At least his hands were shaking which was making the water bottle rather risky to be holding. One of the 'environment destroying twist off caps' that could easily spill even at a small tap. 

 

The music was still playing which was the only thing keeping Stan from going into a state of worry and "what if"s and "he could"s. Stan held his breath and fiddled with the end of his sleeves. His empty stomach was spinning just like he was a minute ago-

 

"How much did you see?"

 

"What?"

 

"M-my routine. How much did you see of it?" Stan asked again simply because he needed to know how bad to freak out. One of the fluorescent lights above flickered as the two of them as an answer trying to be figured out. He considered if he should turn down the music but decided against it since that was the only other noise in the school. Normally there was a comfortable silence between the two; this wasn't one of those times. The sweat smelling air was tense and rather uncomfortable, more so than usual. 

 

"The, uh, jump and a couple spins before that?" Kyle finally responded and even then; it sounded more like a question rather than a statement. Stan let out a sigh of relief and slumping back over, Kyle wasn't there for the bulk of it. Sure, he saw Stan tumble (he would have landed it if Kyle didn't call out to him) yet nothing bad happened was to come from it. Kyle pulled at a long string on his sweater letting that classical music fill the room. Neither of them knew what to say. Both had questions like 'when did you start this' and 'why are you here' but couldn't find the way to express them or who was to ask first.

 

"Who is this? Beethoven?" Kyle asked pointing at the speaker. Stan had closed his eyes, still trying to get air into his lungs. Clearly he was doing better on the oxygen intake but the fact he got the wind knocked out of him was going to show all day. His asthma kicked back up when he started to do football and ballet; as if God was saying "Screw you, asshole" for Stan doing sports.

 

"No," Stan shook his head picking that water bottle back up. He held it against his mouth and took a small sip. "It's Erik Satie," Stan grabbed onto his phone and looked at the screen. Yep, it was. Just to prove he wasn't bullshitting he showed the screen to Kyle who had to squint to read the small font. Ran out of time to put his contacts in this morning and God knows where his thin framed glasses went.

 

"That's cool," Kyle breathed out leaning back. Now what? Kyle wanted to ask Stan some questions. Nothing big but this was something new that he hasn't seen of Stan. He looked so, focused and calm on that jump. Kyle bit at his bottom lip to hold back a question and looked over at Stan.

 

You'd never catch Kyle saying it aloud, but Stan was a good looking guy. Even on the days when he didn't feel all that confident about his appearance, Kyle was there to reassure him. Underneath the long sleeved shirt he could see Stan's chest heave for air, as if he took too deep of a breath the shirt would rip from his muscular torso. His well defined muscles were encased by the leggings on his perfectly sculpted legs. Goddamnit-

 

"How long have you been doing ballet?" Kyle found himself asking. Okay, it was more of a blurt. He was doing anything to distract himself from thinking about Stan and what was better than that by talking to him? At least then he wouldn't focus on his muscular body which he often found wrapped around him after a night of drinking. Stan would get too drunk to be left alone so Kyle would stay with him; as bros of course. What is gay about that?

 

"For uh," Stan looked down at the blue mat. That damn mat. Saved his ass from falling and breaking anything asides from his spirits. "the school has let me have this room saturday mornings for the past, month? Been doing this at my house for, four months now?" 

 

"Holy shit-" Kyle breathed out looking at Stan who just squirmed in his seat. Nothing was wrong with that but just the fact Stan of all people kept a secret for that long. Even if it wasn’t that big of a deal, Kyle was still proud of Stan for holding his own. Kyle clearly heard Stan shift against the mat but there wasn’t anything wrong with the statement. “It’s- dude that’s not a bad thing I’m just- you could've told me about it.”

 

“I didn’t want to seem weak,” Stan breathed out looking at the door that read ‘Exit’ because that felt like the right thing to do. The blue mat was taunting him but the door was no better. No way in heaven or hell that he could bring himself to look at Kyle. 

 

“Dude, it’s not weak. I think it’s pretty cool. Don’t football players do ballet most of the time to help with balance and stuff?” Kyle asked giving his watch a quick glance. Shit, he was going to be late for his meeting. Had eight minutes until it started, 7am sharp. Better to be early as opposed to late when you’re in colorguard. 

 

“Yeah but it’s still kinda, stupid,” Stan mumbled reaching behind his head to take out the ponytail. It’s not nearly as stupid as some of the other things at this school. Namely the ‘anime club’ which consists of Kenny and, at the moment only Kenny. Rumor has it someone else is there but nobody is ever seen in the room. 

 

“It’s not stupid Stan.” He scoffed moving the hair from his face again. Couldn’t even put it into a top knot this morning. Kyle rolled up his sleeves and checked his watch again. Yep, going to be late for the meeting. 

 

“Yes it is-”

 

“Then prove me wrong, show me how it’s stupid.” 

 

That just about killed Stan. Five times today has Stan come close to a heart attack and each time another thing tries to kill him, he doesn’t get stronger, he gets more scared. Especially when Kyle stood up and stepped over to Stan, just another thing to send the already scared man into a state of panic. 

 

“How would I do that-”

 

“Dance for me, show me some of your routine. Then I’ll be able to decide if it’s stupid.” Kyle said offering Stan a hand to get up. He capped the water and cautiously held out a hand and took Kyle’s. Growing up, Stan was always the “bigger” one of the two. Larger hands, wider build, always taller. When summer rolled around and Kyle decided to just, have a huge growth spurt? That was different. Not by much but it didn’t feel the same? That’s another gay crisis. 

 

“But it is and I can’t land the stupid ass jump,” Stan persisted as he was hoisted up. Normally when he practiced Stan just skipped over that jump and acted like he made it. Which, wasn’t the best thing to do but hey, at least he didn’t lose steam after that.

 

“Then don’t. I’m not asking you to go out in front of millions and land a jump that I couldn’t even attempt, I’m just asking to watch you have fun.” 

 

“You always had a weird way at looking at things,” Stan scoffed letting go of Kyle’s hand to give him a small shove. Kyle laughed as he was pushed because that’s how it always was with the two. One says something stupid, the other pushes, then they laugh. “If I do it, will you leave me alone?”

 

“Probably not,” Kyle chuckled giving Stan a small push back. Stan laughed and grabbed his phone, restarting whatever song he was on his autoplay. It was still Tchaikovsky but a different song. Kyle walked over to his back and clipboard and set it down next to the bench where he sat. “Show me what you got, Marsh.” 

 

Stan gave another nervous laugh and did the only thing he could do: his best. At this point? It’s all they can ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me,, waiting for the last second. Also?? This was 2,000 words exact???? So we're making progress


	3. Quick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, uh, Stan?"
> 
> "Yeah dude, what's up-"
> 
> "Ballet isn't just for girls. You- you do what you want and nobody is going to judge you, alright? I'm not gonna tell anybody I just- wanted you to know that."  
> \--  
> Stan gives Kyle a small performance then he leaves for his meeting.

Agreeing to that lame deal was pretty stupid. While Kyle thought it would be amazing to see Stan do ballet he wasn't quite sure what to do while it happened. Was he supposed to give commentary? Was he supposed to clap? Or just sit back and enjoy the show? That's why he ended up fiddling in his seat on the uncomfortable bench.

 

"The whole routine?" Stan asked doing a couple more stretches. Arms above the head, four toe touches, and a couple cowboys which looked like he’s done it all before, because he has. All of which he does for football with a group of other guys. Kyle crossed one leg over the other and shrugged.

 

"Whatever you want. I'm not going to talk shit, unless that's what a judge would do." Kyle scoffed as Stan fumbled to pull his hair back. The song changed and Stan gave a breathy laugh.

 

"Dude, can you turn it up? This is a banger, Gymnopedies by Erik Satie." Kyle followed the request and looked and the song. Damn, he was right again. For someone who still listens to My Chemical Romance and cries over 'Welcome to the Black Parade' even though they broke up how many years ago? Too long for Stan to still be moping around about. He liked the calming orchestral music almost as much as the emo stuff.

 

"Sounds like something from Minecraft, dude-"

 

"Shut up. You're not wrong and that hurts me," Stan mumbled looking back at the baby blue shoes. He is nervous to say the least. Even if it's just Kyle, the one person he trusts asides from Wendy, it's still nerve wracking. Plus the whole "nobody knows about this except for one person" thing going on with this isn’t helping him at all.

 

Kyle went to say another snarky comment, nothing bad just, a fun little jab at him. Which could have come out wrong and sounded more like an insult than anything he intended. As Kyle opened his mouth to let that remark go, Stan started to dance and all that can describe it is, holy shit.

 

Stan was a pretty gentle guy. Not always afraid to show his emotions (unless he was in public) and very careful with animals and everything smaller than him. Which, is probably why he was always willing to help out with anything and everything relating to the animals. But that, this is different. This is a different type of gentle that Kyle hasn't seen before.

 

The way Stan's body is moving, the overall calming aura from the music and how he's as fluent as the piano that is going on in whatever song Stan said it was. He still looks panicked but with each step he seemed to get more into it and Kyle? Oh boy. Kyle couldn't take his eyes off Stan.

 

Someone would say he looked dumbstruck, or simply in awe at the sight in front of him. All five feet and eight inches of Stan was moving as if he had no bones in the first place or that Kyle wasn't even in his room. To be honest? Stan forgot he was. He was just focusing on the steps with his eyes closed, making sure not to hit any of the equipment in the room as he gave a spin.

 

Neither of them noticed when the song changed, well, Stan didn't notice. Kyle did. There was a change in the tone of the music, this one sounded like something you'd hear in a cliche movie where the two people are running at each other in the rain, screaming the other person's name as they grow closer and closer until they meet with a kiss.

 

What made Stan notice that the song was over and something else was playing had to be Kyle clapping.

 

It wasn't obnoxious or anything like that, hell, it was the opposite. Very soft and fast, fingertips hardly touching the palm as he sat up and waiting for Stan to finish whatever he was doing. After a moment, he struck what can only be called a "pose" with shaky legs he balanced himself on the tips of his toes, arms crossed over his chest and holding onto his shoulders while he slowly breathed.

 

"How would I ever think that is fucking stupid?" Kyle asked which, Stan didn't have a reply for. Not right away. Stan ran a hand through his hair and looked at Kyle as if he was the stupidest man on the planet. Kyle wasn't stupid by any means. Sure, he was logical and let his temper get the best of him at all times when anybody (Cartman) spoke. But he wasn't stupid with his straight A's and 4.0 grade point average.

 

"What do you mean- that was stupid and I didn't even, try the jump again and I messed up my footing-"

 

"Stan, that wasn't stupid." Kyle cut him off before Stan could finish that hate filled rant. "I didn't- I wasn't even sure if you could move like that and you can and it's super cool dude, honest."

 

He scratched at the side of his face and mumbled something about "Wasn't that cool," before walking over to Kyle and grabbing his water bottle then taking a small sip from it, sitting on the mat next to him. Now what were they supposed to do? Stan is out of his comfort zone and wants to go run away to the locker room and act as if that didn't happen and Kyle did not see his secret. But he did and Stan willingly gave him a peak of the performance.

 

"What time is your meeting? Didn't, you say something about that in the text this morning?" Stan asked running a thumb over the tip of his shoe. If he could get new, better ones? That would be amazing but as of right now, he doesn't have enough money for the really good ones so he's stuck with these. They work and get the job done, bought off eBay when he first started.

 

"It started at," Kyle moved his green sleeve back to look at his watch "eight minutes ago. Shit- I gotta go," Kyle stood up and looked down at Stan and extended a hand for him to stand up with so he can exist again.

 

Once more, Stan gladly accepted the hand and pulled himself up. Maybe their hands lingered like that for a little longer than it should have but was broken when Kyle's phone buzzed in his back pocket. With far too much hesitation, Kyle took it out and looked at the text.

 

Talking about how he has to be at the meeting sooner rather than later and how *he* was leading it today. He audibly swore something that didn't even sound like it was in english and let go of Stan's hand then went to grab his clipboard and satchell. Stan capped the water bottle as he shifted his weight between his legs, trying to find a good way to stand.

 

"Are we-" Stan started just to cough. There was a voice crack between those two words and oh boy, he's trying his best. "-are we still on for hanging out later? Do you, need me to wait until you're done with your tinth until I leave?"

 

Kyle bit on his bottom lip and thought for a second. He wasn't sure how long the meeting would take and the fact that he was the one leading it? Assuming the normal person called in sick or just didn't show up, that was an issue. So he just shrugged his backpack on and looked back at Stan.

 

"Yeah we're still on for later. You, uh, you can stay if you want? I'll text you when it's over, okay?" Kyle replied taking a couple steps towards the door and placing his hand on the cold, metal bar. Stan nodded and gave a "mm-hm" in confirmation.

 

With a small push, Kyle opened the doors and stepped into the hallway with his clipboard under his arm. He took a deep breath and turned to face Stan again who was watching Kyle leave as he fiddled with his ponytail.

 

"Hey, uh, Stan?"

 

"Yeah dude, what's up-"

 

"Ballet isn't just for girls. You- you do what you want and nobody is going to judge you, alright? I'm not gonna tell anybody I just- wanted you to know that." With that final statement, Kyle let the door close with a defining click sound indicating it was latched all the way. As Kyle passed by the window, Stan saw him run a hand down his face and make a rather aggressive flick of his hand as if he was scolding a child. Or maybe himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for last week but my dumbass has been doing a wicked sad and like,, personal shit. But that is alright because I have this. I tried my best-

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna try and do a chapter per week since I need motivation


End file.
